Page 22 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

She bit her lower lip, let it slide back out, damp, shining, and begging for my attention. Then, very quietly: “Is that why I’ve been banished to my room?”

The words hit me like a sack of wet cement. For a moment, I just sat there, stunned. Of all the accusations I’d prepared for, manipulation, intimidation, maybe even a lawsuit, this was the last one I expected.

“You’re not being punished,” I said, and even to my own ears it sounded weak. “I just… I wanted to make sure you were comfortable while I reminded Leo of his responsibilities.”

She made a sound, something between a laugh and a choke. “You could have just asked.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Every instinct said to take back control, to reframe the conversation, to steer us away from this uncomfortable, vulnerable moment. But the words wouldn’t line up the way I wanted.

For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the faint whisper of wind through the balcony doors, and the distant, tinny clatter of the staff setting up down below.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt, over and over, until the fabric was a small, tight knot in her hands. “I’m not fragile,” she said at last. “You don’t have to lock me up if you’re worried.”

I tried to swallow the urge to reach across the distance and touch her, just a hand on her wrist, something to say I heard her. Instead, I dug my nails into my own palm.

“I know you’re not,” I said. “But there are things… people… here who don’t always play by the rules. I have to be careful.”

She lifted her chin, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, she looked me dead in the eye. “Is that all? Or is there another reason I’m being quarantined?”

It was a challenge. I respected that. But I also hated it, because it forced me to answer.

“There’s another reason,” I said. “But I’m not sure how to explain it.”

She waited, but the silence stretched and I couldn’t find the words. I settled for: “This house, this job, it eats people. It’s better if you stay out of the drama until you know the players.”

She seemed to consider this, then nodded once. Her hands unclenched.

For a minute, we just sat there, neither of us moving.

Finally, I stood. “Would you like to see the ballroom?” I asked, the words out before I could check them.

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Now?”

“Yes. It’s better without an audience.”

There was a beat of hesitation, and then she moved out of my way, then followed. As she passed me, I caught the faint warmth of her skin and something else, a dangerous heat that I wanted to taste.

She walked beside me, quiet, but I could see her eyes darting to my hands, to the set of my shoulders. She was on high alert, but not afraid. More like…interested.

We reached the main hall, and the whole time I tried not to notice the way her breath sped up as we neared the ballroom doors, or the way the flush crept up her neck when I opened them for her.

But I noticed. I noticed everything.

The mansion was built for intimidation, but at this hour it was just…quiet. The staff had retreated, getting their tasks done, but there was the whisper of our footsteps, the scrape of my palm on the rail as we mounted the stairs, the faint hitch in Eden’s breath when our hands brushed, even by accident.

We reached the ballroom and I reached for the heavy doors, which swung open on a whisper, and for a moment we just stood on the threshold. Then I took her hand and led her inside, feeling an instant heat flaring from her touch up my arm and into my chest. Touching her was a mistake, but one I had to keep making.

Only one firework chandelier was lit, its light like stars overhead and casting soft light over us. The air inside was cooler than the hallway, carrying a faint note of roses.

She let me go and drifted to the center of the room, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I followed, every instinct screaming at me to keep my distance. But I ignored it, because I don’t lack self-control. At least, I hoped I didn’t.

“Beautiful,” she said softly. “Like something out of a movie.”

“It’s for events,” I replied. “Parties. Occasionally, a funeral.”

She looked back at me, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Is that a threat?”

“Depends how well you dance.”